An Endeavoring Affair
by Sanguinary Tears
Summary: Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett find themselves in the possession of a large sapphire stone that once belonged to a customer Mr. Todd polished off. Not only do they have the police after them, the stone seems to be bring them bad luck. Sweeney x Mrs. Lovett
1. Chapter 1

My first multiple chapter story! And to add to that, this might be a cross-over with whom you'll just have to wait until the next chapter (if I ever post a second chapter). My inspiration for this story is _The Moonstone _by Wilkie Collins and a twist to the _String of Pearls_ (the Sweeney Todd story). So I hope you enjoy and you'll excuse any occ.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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_An Endeavoring Affair_

_Chapter I_

Mr. Todd was brought out of his musings when the small bell on the door rang, announcing someone had entered his scarlet sanctuary. His first thought was it was Mrs. Lovett who had entered to ask him downstairs and eat something (anything but those pies of hers), but he was proven wrong when he saw the top of a recently polished top hat.

He turned his attention to the door, his expression aloof and cold, but easily enough a cynical smile tugged the corners of his lips, accompanying the cynical twinkle in his dark eyes. He placed his hands on the back of his chair and welcomed his customer.

"Good day sir. What may I be good for? Perhaps a trimming of the hair or a shave, sir?" Mr. Todd said darkly with forged pleasantry laced in his monotone voice.

The man, obviously a gentleman, from his fancy attire, seemed to hesitate as he made his way across the room and took a seat in barber chair; his fate yet unknown to him.

"A shave my good sir. But I must ask that you hurry, I have a very important meeting which I cannot afford to be late for personal matters." The man urged as he sat down and unlaced his collar and bared his throat.

Mr. Todd smiled, knowing the man would never get to his appointment, and applied the froth on the man's face and neck. He drew his razor from the holster at his side and gave it a painfully slow sharpening before placing it any where near the man's throat.

"Of course, sir; I wouldn't dream of making this any longer then it has to. I'll be done with you and soon you'll be off." He assured the man acerbically, but his tone went disregarded by the man whose thoughts were somewhere else.

He pushed the man back against the chair and began to shave him. His strokes were clean and precious, almost mechanical; he cleaned the blade on the towel draped over his left arm. He brought the razor away from the man's throat and was about to polish him off, when he spoke and postponed his end.

Mr. Todd quickly lowered the razor from the air, caught by surprise, and returned it to his throat, endeavoring to be as causal and indifferent as before, as the other spoke or rather interrogated.

"How odd, I've walked up and down Fleet Street many a time, and I must admit this is the first time I have ever seen you before, Mr._—_" Here the man dressed in a rich manner paused, silently asking for his name.

This caught him off guard; usually those he shaved never asked his name or never had the chance to. His surprise did not show on his face; he remained stoic and impassive when he answered.

"Sweeney Todd. I've just opened up my shop here in Fleet Street some few months ago, returning from an _extensive_ trip." Mr. Todd explained laconically. He knew he was going to have to be careful if this man knew Fleet Street as well as he did; he seemed to be ten years his senior, making it highly possible if he got a good look at him, he might identify him as Benjamin Barker. That was something he could not afford again. Pirelli had been enough for him. Another attempt of blackmail would only piss him off more.

"Mr. Sweeney Todd, what a peculiar name. So you have. Where did you go, if you don't mind my asking?" the man asked, detaining information about himself (though Sweeney could care less about the man and his character) and extracting information for Sweeney. It took some effort for Sweeney to control the strong urge he had to just run his razor cross this pestering, chaffing fool's throat and be done with him and return to his solitude_—_but not without first admiring the rubies.

"Not at all, _sir_. I've just returned from a private matter that had me leave London some time ago and travel to…Australia." He spat the continent's name venomously. Just the name was enough to make him remember his fifteen years in that hellhole prison the Judge sent him to rot in. The man grew unsteady with Mr. Todd's turn of character and tensed as he shaved him.

Mr. Todd felt him stiffen and composed himself; just a bit longer and this exasperating conversation would end. An icy silence descended upon them with only the scratching sound of the cool silver against fleshed echoed throughout the room. It was an unnerving silence that was proving too much to bear, and propelled the man to attempt conversation again, much to Mr. Todd's annoyance. Why couldn't this man shut up?

"Australia, it must be an exotic and pleasant place to travel to." The man offered unknowingly fueling Sweeney's ire and taxing his patience.

"Yes, it is an exotic place to travel to, but I can't say it was pleasant." He said through his teeth all the while smiling murderously.

"I've heard many things about Australia," the man said, "but I can't recall anyone saying it was unpleasant."

"Then surely your associates did not go under the acrimonious circumstances in which I did." Sweeney's tone was sharp yet dangerously composed.

Hitherto the man had thought the barber's foul mood was due to lack of sleep or rent-related troubles, but with each passing second, he became uncertain. At that moment Sweeney heard steps coming up the stairs, and they were mounting them quickly from what he could tell. Without thought or care, he ran his razor over the man's neck, causing rubies to escape from their prison and bath everything they could touch. The well dressed man proved to not only be rich in gold and silver, but also in rare rubies.

The stream of blood gurgled at the throat then turned into a small insufficient trickle of dark red. Sweeney yanked his razor from that man's throat and prepared to welcome his guest with the same fate he had just dealt. The door was pushed opened, but he stopped in mid-step when it was just Mrs. Lovett who had entered.

Her eyes quickly looked the mess over and shut the door behind her, locking it and looking worried. It was then that Sweeney heard the shouts and voices of the customers Mrs. Lovett's pies brought and understood her concern. He yanked the rag he tucked in his belt and cleaned his razor before putting it away in the holster and proceeded to send their new meat supplies down into the chute.

"It seems like each day more an' more of these blokes bleed more, don't they, Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett observed as she gingerly stepped through the fast spreading pool of blood and replaced the man's fall arms in his lap. As she dropped the man's limp arms into his lap, the movement caused something to fall out of the man's pant's pocket and cluttered to the floor.

Mrs. Lovett looked down at the floor to see what it was and gasped. Sweeney faced her, thinking something was wrong, and saw her astonished expression. He frowned and walked around his chair to see what had caused her astonishment. Mrs. Lovett knelt down and retrieved the fallen object, carefully picking it up and standing again. A exult smile came to her lips as she gazed up from the heavy object in her hands to her Mr. Todd.

"Mr. Todd, look what 'e was carryng with 'im!" She showed him the object of her astonishment and couldn't believe what he was seeing. There cradled in her hands, covered in its deceased master's blood, was a large sapphire stone. It gleamed underneath the coat of red it was currently wearing as they studied it.

Sweeney took the stone in to his hands, but instead of admiring its' subtle beauty, he swore underneath his breath and shoved it back into Mrs. Lovett's hands. Baffled by his sudden change, Mrs. Lovett stood behind him as he angrily looked out the window, his eyes ablaze.

"What's wrong Mr. T? Image what this will bring us! Why we can move to the sea an' start a new life there, just the three of us, love." Mrs. Lovett tried to persuade him.

He spun around and pinned her with his intimidating glare, making her recoil in fear. "What it will bring us indeed, my pet! This man," he pointed to the dead man, "obviously is being expected somewhere by someone who is undoubtedly expecting this damn stone. He'll be traced _here_ and we'll have the bloody government on us!"

Mrs. Lovett bit her lower lip, understanding what he was trying to say. She looked down at the sapphire stone in her hands and asked quietly, "What are we gonna do with the stone then, love?" Sweeney pressed down on the lever with his foot, making the body of the recent owner of the stone slide down the chute and enter the baking-room below. Just as the trap door snapped close, they heard the cracking of the skull and the crunching of bones.

He walked over to the corner and retrieved the pail and mop and unceremoniously dropped them in front of the window. In just that short amount of time Sweeney had added more to his worries and troubles then he could all ready handled. The little color on his face disappeared and he grew more serious.

She waited impatiently for his plan; she knew he had one. Sweeney rubbed his temples and sighed. He looked away from the window and ordered sharply, "What _you're _going do to Mrs. Lovett, is go into the bake house and prepare _him _into a fresh batch of your delectable meat pies and hide the jewel someplace where no one will think of looking. And I mean someplace _not _obvious either."

"I 'ave the perfect place Mr. Todd, but what are you gonna do?" She inquired curiously.

Sweeney smiled mischievously and replied, "I'm going to close the shop and see what business this man was conducting with such a large stone and who was expecting him."

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_So what did you think? Was it good or bad? Please tell me what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

What do you know I made it to the second chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed and read the first chapter. Now to tell you all what this story's a cross-over with; my choice: _From Hell _starring Johnny Depp as Inspector Fredrick Abberline.

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_Chapter II_

His eyes were closed and his mind was off _chasing the dragon_ as he had done so many times before. A puff of white smoke emerged from his lips and his entire body was relaxed and freed for the moment from reality. It was the opium's doing; it was the cause why he could be so relaxed when his skills were needed the most. His artificial paradise would have gone on for much long, however, at that moment Sergeant Peter Godley came bustling through the opium den and roused him from his drug induced tranquility.

Dark diluted brown eyes gradually fluttered open and absorbed the little light that illuminated the low-dimmed room. Even with the little light it blinded him. Inspector Fredrick Abberline sat up, accustoming his eyes to light and finally looking to Sergeant Godley with an indifferent look. The only sensible look he could mange in his hazy condition.

"I had a feeling I'd find you here wasting yer time inhaling that wretched drug." Sergeant Godley reprimanded him. "Get up, you have a case. Hurry up, we haven't got all day."

He hauled Abberline to his unsteady feet and towed him out the door and reacquainted him with the filthy, degrading and immoral streets they were supposed to keep lawful. If the light back in the opium den had been unbearable for him to stand, the eclipsed sun hidden behind smoke and pollution was worst and made him cringe. He could feel a headache coming full force. But it soon passed when Godley saw his suffering and led him to a water pump where he washed his face and freshened himself up.

At once the cold water wiped away his indolence and woke him up completely. The glazed glint in his eyes dissipated, and determination and alertness took its place. Abberline dried his face with his handkerchief and turned his attention to Godley.

"You were saying?" Abberline said as they started to walk. Things were bustling about all around them in Whitechapel. Something Abberline noticed was it was still broad daylight, meaning he had only been in the opium den for a few hours and not an entire day as he suspected.

"Ah yes the case. This morning a missing person report came in. It was for a Mr. Clyde Kindleston whose aunt was expecting him last night but he never showed." Godley explained.

Abberline looked from him to the dirty faces passing them by. He saw nothing of interest in a missing person case, but his attention was drawn back to Godley narrative quickly when he mentioned there was a possibility that there had been foul play.

"This sounds more like abduction then a missing person. What would they want with him?" Abberline muttered evenly. Godley nodded his head agreeing with him.

"But there's more. From what we could gather from the Aunt—Mrs. Laver, he was carrying in his possession a valuable heirloom that was meant to be given to his niece as a wedding gift."

The streets were more active then usual and they had a hard time getting through. They pushed and shoved their way out of the throng of people until they were freed and resumed their conversation.

"Did this Mrs. Laver make any reference to the object in question?" Fredrick Abberline asked as he shoved a drunken man out of his way.

"She wouldn't say. All we could get out of her was that it was valuable. That's all she would say. Her lips were as sealed as a damn envelope." Godley cursed.

"But all envelopes can be opened in some way," Abberline commented. "Where was Clyde Kindleston last seen? Or is even _that_ bit of information unknown?"

"He was last seen down in Fleet Street." Godley answered his question. Abberline was quiet for a few minutes in reserved silence; thinking and considering the bit of information he had been told. Then he spoke abruptly.

"What was he doing in Fleet Street I wonder?" Abberline muttered. He glanced up and was surprised that the former mentioned street was where they where. He looked to Godley who shared his puzzlement.

"Well speak of the devil." Godley said smiling. Abberline ignored his comment and began to walk when a woman dressed in rags detained him as she sang pitifully, "Alms! Alms! For a desperate woman." The beggar woman clung onto his jacket and tugged on it firmly.

Abberline tried to get away from her, but she refused to let him go so easily. She kept on with her rubbish until he fished through his pockets and handed her a few coins to satisfy her. The beggar woman didn't release him as he had anticipated; she stared into his eyes and her own eyes looked to have lost some of its obscurity.

Her mouth parted as if she wanted to say something. On closure inspection, Abberline could tell this woman had once been beautiful before whatever caused her decay transformed her into a beggar and a prostitute. Her dull blue eyes displayed insanity and sadness; maybe the lost of a husband or child had driven her to her mind's limits? So many possibilities flew threw his mind that he hardly knew why he was even pondering these things.

"Move it lady; we don't 'ave time for these types of games." Godley's voice snapped Abberline from the trace the woman had unexpectedly placed over him. He shook his head and freed himself from her and even as they left her behind, he could still feel her hollow blue eyes watching him.

He stole a look over his shoulder and sure enough she was still watching him. Then she abruptly turned on her heels and continued to sing hoarsely for a few pennies. Abberline turned around, confused.

"What are you staring at?" Godley questioned of him. Abberline looked straight ahead nonchalantly and said, "S'nothing at all. I'll meet you back at the Yard. I'm going to see what the people around here know about Mr. Kindleston. You wouldn't happen to have a photograph of him, would you?"

Godley retrieved a crisp photo of the disappeared man and handed in it to Abberline who in turn studied it. The man in the photo appeared to be five and twenty; he had dark hair that was combed neatly, he was dressed in a simple yet elegant manner and his eyes, from what he could tell, were of a plain green. No doubt women would call him handsome, but Abberline had another less appropriate word to use to describe him, but he kept that to himself.

He thanked Godley and they parted ways. Abberline was left alone with only a vague understanding of the missing man, a photo that had to have been taken at least three years ago, and his skills to begin his investigation. It was not much, but he was in the least grateful he had the information Godley had been able to give him—in other cases the most he had to work with were a few words and a inaccurate description of the culprit or in this case, missing person.

Replacing the photo in to the breast pocket of his jacket, he randomly drifted into shops and asked if they had by any chance seen Clyde Kindleston pass down Fleet Street. Many of the people he questioned told him they hadn't seen him while some all together would not spare a moment to talk to him, slamming their doors on his face and cursing him and calling him and the police good for nothing dogs.

Other people of short temper would have told them to go to hell, but Abberline dryly thanked them for their time and moved one. A boisterous chiming vibrated through the air and dictated his eyes towards old St. Dustan's clock where he read the time to be four o' clock in the afternoon. He rubbed his throbbing temples and quickly entered a shop without looking at the name of the shop.

To his relief the interior of the place was dark and quiet save for the soft snoring of someone coming from the direction to his right. The door behind him closed and he stepped forward and saw the form of a young boy sprawled out on a settee in the other room passed out with a bottle of gin in his hand.

His eyes traveled over the shop and drank in every gloomy detail place. A tray of meat pies lay undisturbed on the counter, as if ready to be served. Flour littered the wooden floor and counter, and sprinkled in the dough and spilled flour where dead cockroaches. The little appetite he had had before entering the pie shop died when he saw cockroaches floating in a bowl of unidentified mixture. He wasn't sure what was worst, eating a disgusting meat pie or seeing a mutilated dead body.

Abberline saw no further need to remain; he walked back to the door and had his hand on the doorknob when the wailing of hinges behind him made him look back to the counter. A woman dressed in a black gown with a head of red hair that reminded him of a rat's nest, came cheerfully out of the bake house holding a tray of freshly baked meat pies. Mrs. Lovett gasp when she saw Abberline standing there staring at her and she swiftly put the tray down and offered him her best smile.

"A customer! What can I get for you, love? A meat pie and a pit of ale?" Mrs. Lovett asked. She pulled out a plate and was about to serve him a meat pie when Abberline stopped her. He smiled cordially at her.

"Nothing madam, I haven't come for a pie. My name is Inspector Fredrick Abberline, I'm with Scotland Yard and I've come to ask a few questions concerning a missing man who was last seen here in Fleet Street," Abberline said and produced Kindleston's photo to show her. "Have you seen this man, by chance?"

Mrs. Lovett looked at the photo and felt sick to her stomach. The face of the man Mr. Todd had polished off the other day stared accusingly at her. The police had been informed quicker then they had imaged of the man's disappearance.

Her anxious mind concocted the most elaborate and outrageous thoughts that had her heart beating viciously against her breast. It felt like with each beat her heart gave the closure it came to springing out her mouth.

If she lied that she hadn't seen him and was contradicted by any witnesses who had indeed seen Kindleston enter her shop, she would make things harder for her and Mr. Todd. And if she did say she had seen him, then she would be giving her Mr. Todd over to the authorities.

Abberline noted her hesitation and asked, "Is there something wrong, madam?" Mrs. Lovett shook her head and patted her dress.

"Tis nothing, sir. S'nothing at all." She said reassuringly. "I 'ave seen 'im. He came in 'ere just the other day and 'ad a meat pie. That was the last I saw of 'im." She hoped that would be sufficient for him, but then he noticed the upstairs room over her shop and asked if it was occupied.

"It is by me tenant Mr. Todd. He's a fine barber, 'e 'is. I'd say the best in all London." Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but praise her dear Mr. Todd. Abberline nodded his head and inquired, "Is he upstairs right now, I would like to ask if he's seen Mr. Kindleston?"

"He is and who might be looking for him?" Mrs. Lovett and Abberline alike whisked around towards the side door of the pie shop to find Mr. Todd himself at the threshold with his recently polished razor at his side. His expression was dark and almost malicious. He was clean from the evidence of crimson Mrs. Lovett had been expecting to find him wearing. The little light the sun managed to pierce through the smog shone behind him and made his pale skin glow and made him look like a demon.

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_Hah, so what do you think?__ I'm sure you all know who it was that clinging to his jacket and asking for some money. This chapter was to introduce Inspector Fredrick Abberline and get a small insight of him. I'm really sorry if I messed up and had everyone out of character. Please review and tell me what you think!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter III_

Inspector Fredrick Abberline thanked them for their help and left with some suspicion harbored in his breast, a suspicion Mr. Todd knew he had. Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett where left standing in the middle of the pie shop with only a cold draft which served to remind them of the Inspector's presence there. Mr. Todd walked over to the window and coldly glared after the retreating Abberline until he disappeared round a corner. Without saying a word to Mrs. Lovett or looking at her, he stormed passed her, intending to return to his shop and concoct a plan that might get them out of this quandary, when she abruptly spoke and detained him.

"I don't like how things are starting to turn out, Mr. T. Not one bit at all. Something in my bones tells me this won't be the last time we see this Inspector round 'ere, and his inquiries." She couldn't have been more obvious and Mr. Todd made her know it.

He approached her and rejoined darkly, "You've stated the obvious, Mrs. Lovett. Damn; and where is the cause of all our current distress?" He referred to the cursed sapphire he had instructed her to hide—and for her sake and his own, he hoped she had thought carefully where to put it. Mrs. Lovett's face brightened up as she said, "You needn't worry, love. I've 'idden it where no one would ever think of looking, I 'ave. Leave the stone in my care, and you won't be disappointed, I promise Mr. T."

He grunted something and gave a slight nod of his head in approval which made Mrs. Lovett's heart race and batter against her breast. Every time he approved of a plan, or just the notion that he listened to what she said, made Mrs. Lovett hope that all she said was not spoken in vain and that he actually took the time to listen to her. God and she knew she didn't want to be any inconvenience to him or their plans. And she would do her best not to be a disappointment to him.

With no further obstacles to detain him a second longer in the pie shop, Mr. Todd left and returned to the solitude which his own shop had to offer him. He went on with his duties as a barber and executor that day as he always had before, but the stone and the Inspector's presence lingered close to the surfaces of his reflections. He found it hard to concentrate on anything he did. This even included polishing off those who came to him for a shave.

As he shaved this gentleman or that gentleman, his hand was unsteady, and more then once he had to stop and mutter an excuse before pacifying his hand and nerves before returning to his task which didn't take too long. At the end of the day the only thing he could do to ward away the pestering images of the man named Kindleston, the stone, which he had reason to suspect was an actual diamond, and the Inspector who was going to prove to be a nuisance, was to stupefy himself in polishing his razors and cleaning up the mess of blood.

But the calming effects of these almost mechanical habits which he performed on a daily base, offered him no means of escape now that they were done. Mr. Todd violently threw the rag he used to clean the wooden floor and barber chair into the murky reddish water, straightened up and stalked heavily over to the window to contemplate as best he could in his hectic state of mind.

He leaned against the window with his forearm supporting his pounding head against the cold glass, and stared out. He hadn't relieved on the stone, diamond, whichever it proved to be, to cause this much of a hassle for them. The wretched stone and/or diamond, was already causing trouble on its second day of its falling into his hands! He could only image, with concealed dread what it would do next if it lasted any longer in his or Mrs. Lovett's care.

The moment of pawning it occurred to him as he numbly noticed the pawn-broker passing by. But then another idea formed in his mind and contradicted it. The pawn-broker was sure to ask too many questions about the stone's origins and how a man of his profession and social status had ever gotten a hold of something as valuable as the stone. The man would no doubt arrive to the conclusion he had stolen it; and then it would be the end to all that Mr. Todd had worked so desperately to achieve because of his carelessness. He could kiss his plans for vengeance against Judge Turpin and the Beadle to the winds.

But there was the alterative of taking it to a money-lender, but the same thing that would most likely ensure with the pawn-broker were sure to reiterate in this case as well. So that left him with another alterative of sealing it to a thief—but he hardly thought the latter would be satisfactory. He knew the ways of a thief and they would quickly deal him a dirty trick and not give him what the stone and/or diamond was worth. He might as well keep it, but the longer it remained with him, the more risk there was of being found with it in his possession. And by _his_ he meant both he and Mrs. Lovett.

He didn't want nor like the stone or whatever it was, at all. His dislike for it boarded close to abhorrence. There was something about it that made him uneasy about, and that was saying something considering not much affected Mr. Todd. A frustrated sigh found its way passed it lips and fogged the recently cleaned glass. It wasn't like he wanted to worry over the stone, but it had forced itself upon him. And for that he hated it more because it was distracting him from his course of vengeance.

For now he would settle on keeping it in the trustful care of Mrs. Lovett. And something in the way her eyes gleamed when ever he mentioned the stone made him arrive to the conclusion she was becoming _too_ fond of the stone. He would have to have a grave talk with her to-morrow morning about it. But now, now he would try once more to abolish the stone from his mind and focus on more important things that needed his attention, mainly Johanna, Lucy, his vengeance and blood.

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The next day awoke to the same gloominess and overcast day as the day before. The only exception that disturbed the commonplace was a woman's scream and the pounding footsteps up the stairs to the barber shop. Mr. Todd was awake and about to drink a cup of tea to warm him up, when the door was flung open and a wide-eyed Toby stood at the threshold out of breath and hesitated to enter. Mr. Todd looked at him sharply and asked, "What is it boy?" 

Toby forgot his fear of Mr. Todd and ran into the shop and abruptly snatched his hand and tugged him towards the door. He was stood when Mr. Todd wrapped his fingers unceremoniously around his lithe wrists and hissed vehemently, "I asked you a question boy and I expect to be answered. Why did Mrs. Lovett scream just now?"

Toby stared fearfully in Mr. Todd's grasp and stuttered idiotically, "She...Mrs. Lovett wouldn't say, sir. She only told me to come fetch an you an that I be quick about it. That's all she said to me, sir. You've got to 'urry though, Mr. Todd! Wotever it was, it scared 'er enough to scream."

Mr. Todd released Toby's wrist and walked out of his shop, knowing well he was at his heels, and found a bewildered and worried senseless Mrs. Lovett waiting for him when he entered the pie shop. He narrowed his eyes at her and prompted impatiently, "Why did you scream Mrs. Lovett?"

She lifted her eyes from the counter and looked up at him with an uneasy look in her eyes and with something in her hands. Mr. Todd arched a brow and took a step forward to see what it was he was looking at. It was a meat pie. But there was something odd about it—besides the fact that it was made of human flesh. Both Mr. Todd and Toby waited for her to speak and explain herself more clearly.

Her jaw seemed to relax and then she spoke for the first time since they had entered the shop. "The meat 'as spoiled; all of it. And so 'ave all the meat pies I prepared last night for today." Nobody said a word; they simply stared at her and couldn't believe all the meat had spoiled over the period of one night. And so began the curse that was bestowed upon the sapphire stone for them.

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_The whole pawn-brokerm, money-lender and the sealing the stone to a thief ideas were inspired by "The Moonstone" by Wilke Collins, and "The String of Pearls". I couldn't help but make the stone be cursed. It just makes things more interesting—at least for me anyways. Sorry about any occ-ness I might have written. And thank you for reading, and hopefully it wasn't a disappointment to read? Night everyone!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter IV_

_October 25__th__, 1848_

_(Same day and night after which Abberline starts to investigate)_

The moment Abberline stepped into the hectic interior of the Metropolitan Police Station he was approached by an impatient Godley who had been waiting a very long time for his return. A nearby church tolled the hour and informed those within reach the hour was forty-five minutes past six. Abberline had spent a longer time questioning the people of Fleet Street then he had anticipated. Though everything round him was noisy and made his temple throb, it was good to be back in familiar surroundings and with Godley after a long day.

To insure the crucial want of privacy and to keep inquisitive ears from overhearing their conversation, they retired to Abberline's office and once the door was, Godley said forthrightly, "Judging from your look, you learnt something from your questioning down on Fleet Street concerning our man Kindleston. Have you learnt anything? I've 'ad Sir Warren breathing down my neck and asking me where you've been all day. 'E said something about wanting to talk to you about this case."

As Godley talked, Abberline fished through his coat pockets for his silver cigarette case. When he didn't find it in his coat, he searched his person and internally groaned when he still couldn't locate it. In their haste that morning, Godley hadn't given Abberline enough time to collect all his things before yanking him to his feet and pulling him out of the opium den. He had left his cigarette case on the low table next to the spot where he had been lying down and inhaling that wonderful drug that allowed him to escape with the dragon.

Hopefully when he returned the following night the opium-master would have his silver cigarette case waiting for him. But the chances of having it returned were slim. Sighing, Abberline sank into his chair and enquired blandly, "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette on you Godley?"

Godley flushed red in anger, but instead of saying anything, he dug into his great coat pocket and tossed an entire box of cigarettes on Abberline's desk. Thanking him, Abberline placed a cigarette between his lips and inhaled deeply before talking.

"I'll see him before I leave and see what he wants." Abberline took another breath of smoke and exhaled.

"You've made some sort of discovery haven't you? What with your visions and all, I thought you'd already have some sort of lead on the murderer or kidnapper or how ever the hell you want to call the bloody bastard." Godley grumbled impatiently.

Abberline removed the cigarette from his lips, and stared at it with false interest. He twirled it around between his fingers before answering.

"From what little I gathered from the shop keepers, yes they did see a man of Kindleston's description walk pass their shop yesterday. But —" Abberline hissed, the cigarette burning his finger. He silently cursed and tossed it into the wastebasket, extinguished, and placed his searing finger in his mouth to ease the string.

Godley bit the interior of his fleshy cheek to keep from laughing at Abberline's small pain. Abberline glared, making Godley grow serious and ask professionally, "But what?"

"You enjoy seeing me in pain don't you Godley?" Abberline muttered irony laced delicately around each of his words. Godley smirked and replied, "You were saying Abberline?"

"—but the last two persons who saw Kindleston alive were Mrs. Lovett, the owner of Mrs. Lovett's Meat-pie Emporium, and a barber named Sweeney Todd who lives on the upper rooms above the pie shop. Apparently Kindleston first ate one of Mrs. Lovett's meat pies before deciding on a shave and went up to Mr. Todd's for his services. After that Mr. Todd says he left and that was the last they saw of him." Abberline said informatively with a soft sigh. He ran his hand through his hair and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before looking at the sergeant his friend.

Godley nodded his head, absorbing the information narrated to him, but questioning the coincidence like Abberline found himself questioning now. It seemed all too much to be Chance, but there was more to things and Abberline knew there was. He just had to find it.

"You don't buy what they told you, do you? For all we know 'e could be lying." Godley pointed out. Abberline smirked and looked at him, straightening up in his chair and rejoinder calmly, "I have no doubt whatsoever that they have lied to me. Now the only thing I have to do is find out what it is that is requiring them to use some much discretion."

He stood up from behind his messy deck, snatched his hat and coat from the rack and headed for the door. Godley frowned slightly as watched him and asked were he was going.

Abberline opened the door and replied, "First I'm going to report to Sir Warren and see what he wants. Then," Abberline paused, pensively, as if not sure where he was going after that. He had wanted to go down to the _Ten Bells_ to have a small chat with Mary and see if she knew anything about the current affairs of the streets, but the urge to go poking about in the dark through dust covered documents suddenly popped into his head. The one thing he did know was that it was going to be a tedious night and he had no expectations of sleep. He was much too energetic to go to bed.

"Then what?" Godley asked, cutting into his thoughts like a butter knife.

"Then I'm heading down to Lambeth Palace Library to see some documents." Abberline closed the door and made his way down the hall and stood outside Sir Charles Warren's office. He knocked and entered when he was bid entrance.

"Sir," Abberline said nonchalantly as he took the seat his superintendent bade him to take. "You wished to see me?"

Sir Warren looked up momentarily from the important documents littering his desk and implied, "I did. Where have you been these last few hours Inspector?"

"I've been doing my job, sir." Abberline answered him unperturbedly.

At his answer, Sir Warren put down his writing utensil and directed his sharp eyes on Abberline, observing his tiredness and lack of sleep. It was a miracle the man was still alive and able to solve cases with the lifestyle he damned himself to. But he understood Abberline's pain. He laced his fingers together and repeated, "Your job?"

"Yes sir, my job." Abberline replied, his hands resting in his lap.

"Well then let me hear what discoveries you have made in the last six hours since you where last here." His superintendent inquired sternly. Abberline nodded his head, but could not understand why he was vexed with him.

"I have learned that Mr. Clyde Kindleston was indeed seen by the people of Fleet Street yesterday on Tuesday and was last seen by a barber named Sweeney Todd for a shave no doubt, which Mr. Todd can testify to." Abberline said calmly. He had opted to leave Mrs. Lovett out of his statement for the time being, since he believed it was Sweeney Todd who deserved to have the spot light first.

Sir Warren frowned, the barber's queer name sounding so alien to his old ear. Since the age of twenty-five, Charles Warren had in his course of working with the Metropolitan Police heard the most commonplace names to the most preposterous names that could ever be bestowed upon a person, but never had he heard the name Sweeney Todd before.

Abberline read his confusion and clarified coolly, "This is the first time we have ever heard mentioned of Mr. Todd, sir." Sir Warren inclined his head in understanding.

"A very queer name; and do you have any leads on Mr. Kindleston's whereabouts?" Sir Warren returned to the task of signing papers and allowing Abberline to speak. Any other person would have found the superintendent's lack of attention frustrating, but Abberline had long since grown accustom to addressing Sir Warren's bald head when he was hunched over and had his nose close to the document in front of him.

"With all do respect sir," Abberline began, slowly preparing for his superior's irked reaction, "I have reason to believe Mr. Kindleston is far from our reach. I believe he's dead, sir." As he had suspected, Sir Warren pushed his chair away and slammed the palm of his hands on his desk and pinned Abberline with a piercing look and all the while Abberline remained calm and reserved.

"Dead? And tell me Inspector Abberline, did you _see_ Clyde Kindleston's death in one of those visions of yours you are so renowned for?" Sir Warren asked sarcastically.

Abberline looked up at him with a composed countenance and answered matter-of-factly, "I wouldn't know, sir since I was disturbed from my reveries before I could find out."

Slowly his superior lowered himself again into his chair and whilst staring at Abberline with a stern expression, said, "Tomorrow you will be paying a visit to the deceased man's Aunt in Portland Place; I expect you to be there at exactly eleven o' clock. You are to make sure you can find out anything and everything about Kindleston and the diamond." Sir Warren regarded Abberline with one more stern scrutiny before waving his hand and saying, "You are dismissed Inspector."

Abberline rose, inclined his head and left the superintendent to his paperwork and thoughts. Abberline closed the door and headed for the front door. He hadn't made up his decision how to wallow his night away, but the best and productive course for him to take was heading over to Lambeth Palace Library and browse through the archives and see what he could find. It was worth a shot and he really didn't have much to lose.

Abberline hugged his coat closure to him and set off towards the direction of the Library.

* * *

_26__th__ October, 1848 _

_(Next morning after Abberline's visit to Fleet Street) _

Awaking to the horrible discovery that roughly two hundred pies for just the firstpart of the day had perished over the exaggeration of one night would make any calm and optimistic person go insane and start to panic and think the worst. And Mrs. Lovett was the exact example of such a catastrophic episode.

She was expected to open up the shop at precisely eight o' clock for the first rush of customers, and she had an hour before opening to the public. From the moment Mr. Todd had been ushered into the shop by Toby and enquired what the matter was, right then and there she knew she would never be able to sell the pies in the putrid state they were in. Too much would be at stake if she committed such a folly.

For the next remainder of time before she opened her doors, she and Sweeney discussed (or rather argued) what they would do with the pies. Sweeney, being in a cross temper because he had been pulled away from his morning brooding, firmly declared that the best course of action for them to take was to sell the pies and if anything happened to the persons who ate the pies, they could always say it was something the devourers ate the day before. And it really was a good excuse considering the things the people of Fleet Street ate since everything was too expensive to buy.

Mrs. Lovett came close to yielding to his decision when she remembered that excuse wouldn't work as cleverly as they wished it to. They had to keep in mind that all type of people came to taste her delectable meat pies. From rich to poor, from lawyers, bankers and judges (with the exception of one dastard in mind) to the poorest trade's man who worked off the labors his hands conducted came to have a nibbled of the meat pies.

A man of wealth and social standing would sue them for everything they had, which wasn't much, but Mrs. Lovett wasn't too keen on the idea of losing her shop and Sweeney…the only thing of value he had was his razors. And it's clear he wouldn't part with them easily. A few throats would be slit before anyone was about to pry them from his dexterous hands; and even then he would fight for what was his.

God knew he had lost so much during the fifteen years that had been stolen from him and nothing and no one would make him live through that again. His razors may have been inanimate objects of finely crafted silver, but they held a vehement connexion to his past and the memory of happier times when he was with Lucy and Johanna.

When that fist suggestion was rebuked, they considered other methods that might work. Simple yet affective were Mrs. Lovett's exact words. Sweeney paced as Mrs. Lovett sat in the booth, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her index finger. After a few minutes of deep thinking, Mrs. Lovett clapped her hands and advocated the idea of making some highly efficient amendments to the meat pies so they could be sold. Sweeney regarded her with a dubious look before asking what she had in mind. She said something about adding herbs and adding pinches of pepper to hide the taste and smell.

As an answer, the barber looked away and shook his head, declaring her idea inane and much too time consuming and preposterous.

"It's best just to throw the pies away and make a new batch to save yourself all the hassle of adding things merely to hide a hideous stench that cannot go undetected by even the most dull smelling nose in London. You should know Mrs. Lovett, considering your husband was a butcher that the stench of decaying flesh is near impossible to hide." Sweeney reminded her apathetically, though his statement sounded like a reproach.

With another proposal discarded and labeled futile, more minutes passed between them before either spoke. As if a bolt of lightening had struck her and enlightened her, Mrs. Lovett stood up and exclaimed triumphantly with a large smile, "Well, wot if we keep the bad pies downstairs and at the end of the day we'll throw 'em into the oven and that'll be the end to all our worries, love."

It seemed like the best course they could take. Even if it was a little…obvious.

Outside the St. Dustan clock chimed the hour to be thirty-five before eight. Sweeney pensively reflected over her scheme. It was a very good idea, practical and affective as it should be. He a small nod of his head and muttered, "Fine. That is what we'll do. Just keep the boy out of the bake house."

Mrs. Lovett's smile grew broader and Sweeney wondered if the corner of her lips would rent. She'd managed to please him which was hard to do and her heart was filled to the brim of joviality and accomplishment.

Toby had been bid to wait outside as the two talked and settled matters. Before she called him in, Mrs. Lovett grabbed one of the trays on the counter and tried to open the heavy steel door which led downstairs into the bake house. Sweeney watched her for a second before giving a forlorn sigh and firmly pushing her aside. He opened the latch and stepped out of her way so she could go down.

Her cheeks were painted with the faintest tint of red as his hand accidentally brushed against hers. He pulled back quickly when he saw the colour on her face and allowed her passage to do her duty. As she went about her own work, Sweeney knew he should return to do his own.

Right when he was going to leave her shop, he thought about taking the other tray down to the bake house to make things more manageable for her. He hesitated momentarily before he picked it up and trotted down the stairs and placed them on the table next to its twin. Sweeney didn't say a word to her as he quickly left Mrs. Lovett by the furnace where she stood with the door ajar, the light of the fire making her pale skin glow sublimely.

Mrs. Lovett was going to call after him and ask if something else. But he was already gone. She sighed and followed suit up the stairs back to her kitchen and prepare the dough for pies. She would need Toby's help to make things go faster.

When the side door to the pie shop opened, Toby gave a start and looked up from his seat on the first step of the stairs leading up to the shop above to find Sweeney standing in front of him with a cold demeanor.

Sweeney hadn't seen Toby until he was about to mount the stairs back to his shop and wait for customers. Sweeney stared at him and stopped on the first step where Toby sat and warned grimly, "Don't go into the pie shop until Mrs. Lovett calls you in. Understand boy?" He narrowed his eyes, as if silently daring Toby to defy him.

Knowing better then to go against his word, especially when Toby saw how dangerously close Sweeney had his hand by his razor, he vigorously nodded his head and answered stiffly, "Yes sir. I'll wait until she calls for me."

"Good." The barber returned and took the steps two at a time before he stepped into his shop and closed the door behind him. Toby watched him as he went until he disappeared inside. Toby couldn't deny the fact that he was afraid of Sweeney. What with his hollow eyes and aloofness and always seeking the comfort of being alone and not disturbed by anyone. There was just something about Sweeney that Toby didn't trust. It was silly to think about it, yet he couldn't help but think it.

Toby placed his chin on his hand and waited to be called in by his mum to help her. He didn't have to wait long. Mrs. Lovett opened the side door and smiled at him and told him he could come inside and help her get the pies ready. Toby did as he was told most willingly. Whatever his mum asked him to do he would do it for her because he loved Mrs. Lovett and considered her like a mother.

* * *

As he waited for someone to show up—namely the Beadle since he had promised to come for a shave, Sweeney stropped each of his razors until they were as sharp and as perfect as the day he had bought them. He gave them each in turn a tender polish, almost an affectionate caress, and set them back into their case, leaving only two in his possession. He closed the lid and heard the whistling of the tea pot. He had forgotten all about his tea from the morning in his rush.

Sweeney walked to the small stove and removed the pot. He set it aside when the handle broke and dropped to the floor, the searing water splashing over his boots and spreading outwards. Fortunately his boots had saved his feet from being burnt and he was thankful for that. The least he wanted to be was a crippled barber.

With a silent growl, he snatched a cloth that was hanging idly from the armrest of his chair and began cleaning up the slip, conscious that the water was still hot. Once the mess was cleaned up, he tossed the cloth with the rest of his laundry that had yet to be cleaned. The dented tea pot still lay on its side, like some useless part of machinery. Sweeney picked it up and placed it back on the stove and retired to his chair.

The barber ran a hand through his tangled locks and rubbed his temple, feeling the nuisance of a headache coming to hector him. This whole business with the meat pies spoiling wouldn't exit his mind as smoothly as he wanted it. He still couldn't comprehend who so much had spoiled in so little time. The bake house was normally cold and damp and a few degrees colder during the nights which insured that the meat would stay well-preserved and fresh. How then could he or anyone explain an extraordinary event like this?

Sweeney closed his eyes with his head against his chair and meditated for what felt like hours. No one came in and he was vaguely aware of that. He felt tired but he knew he had to stay awake and hurry up and slit someone's throat so Mrs. Lovett could have someone to use for supplies. Everything started to lose its clarity as the room spun and against his will, Sweeney fell asleep.

While his eyes closed and his body immobile in his chair with a forlorn countenance, he was at the mercy of his own mind and conscience. It wasn't guilt that triggered the nightmares, it was something else entirely. Whatever had unleashed them, it happened and he was rendered helpless.

He was reliving his days as Benjamin Barker when he had Lucy and Johanna. But that soon gave way to the day when Turpin laid eyes on her and he had been arrested. His fifteen years of exile came sweeping through his mind until it all froze and he found himself recalling the day when more misfortunate sauntered into his shop. He had slit Kindleston's throat cleanly and swiftly and had sent him down the chute without a second thought.

As its' owner slid downwards into the abyss below, the diamond had saved itself and clattered to the floor, catching Sweeney's attention and dooming him from the moment he laid eyes on its red glossy surface. In his dream, Sweeney could see himself cleaning the diamond and revealing a stunning yellow facade that captivated him. But truth be told, he found it more beautiful when it was coated in blood.

And that's what he saw again. After cleaning it, crimson soon afterwards covered the precious diamond as if he had never touch it. Sweeney frowned and again rubbed it with the cloth, but the red would not disperse. Shortly the red started to overflow and drip to the floor and pooled at his feet. He took a step back and wanted to drop the diamond, but discovered _he _was the source of the undying flow of blood that satisfied the diamond's thirst for blood. He was now linked to the brilliant and he couldn't dislodge from it. He was stuck. And he couldn't severe his imprisonment to it.

He had at his command at least his left hand. The first thing his mind told him to reach for was his razor. With little effort he hand his hand around the hilt of it and yanked it out from his belt. All that proceeded from the razor being freed passed in a blur.

At the sound of hearing something drop, Sweeney snapped open his dark eyes and looked wildly around him, liberated from the dream he had drifted into. His hands gripped the armrest of his chair and he hissed bitterly when he felt a ferocious pang of pain coming from his hand.

He unclenched his hands and brought them before him. His left hand was bleeding profusely from the palm while his right hand was only covered in blood. Sweeney held his hand and stood up and went to his vanity to pour some water from the pitcher into the bowl to clean the wound. As he stood, his foot kicked something and whatever it was, it clanked against the wall.

Frowning, Sweeney knelt down and found it was his razor he had kicked; the blade and handle both saturated with his blood. Just like his dream, only the thing that had been painted with his blood was the diamond not his razor.

* * *

A/N: I changed things but I don't think I've managed to make things more entertaining. Sweeney's dream is stupid and unclear, I know. Everyone's out-of-character. And my grammer's bad. But things will...get better. Thanks to anyone who actually is reading this.


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